


Finding Relief

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And they don't bang, But they aren't in love, Drabble, Infidleity, Multi, Ron and Hermione are Married, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25198675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: “I have to be getting home,” Hermione said when she was dressed as she slipped her feet back into her shoes.“Yeah, before your bloody husband notices,” Thorfinn said, smirking.“Like he’d notice?” Antonin complained. “He’s probably already in bed and snoring his head off like he usually is when you come home late. Meanwhile, I lie awake and miss you every night you’re not here.”
Relationships: Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 36
Kudos: 236





	Finding Relief

“Do you have to go?” Antonin Dolohov asked, rousing unhappily when Hermione Granger rose to her feet and shimmied back into her knickers.

“Toshka,” Thorfinn Rowle cautioned from the other side of the bed, having already been disturbed as the pretty witch clambered over him to search for her bra.

“What?” Antonin complained, watching from his side of the bed while Hermione silently located her bra, and her skirt, and then her top, redressing like she hadn’t just allowed both wizards to rip her out of the day’s work clothes and ravish her within an inch of her life. 

“Don’t whine,” Thorfinn said tiredly, in no mood for Antonin’s theatrics. “It’s unattractive.”

“So is being deserted by our witch after shagging her into a stupor,” Antonin complained. 

Thorfinn looked over and met Hermione’s gaze while she fished her riotous curls from under her collar. He rolled his eyes at her, never overly patient with the third member of their little _menage_.

“I have to be getting home,” Hermione said when she was dressed as she slipped her feet back into her shoes. 

“Yeah, before your bloody husband notices,” Thorfinn said, smirking.

“Like he’d notice?” Antonin complained. “He’s probably already in bed and snoring his head off like he usually is when you come home late. Meanwhile, I lie awake and miss you every night you’re not here.”

“Bloody hell, Toshka, is it that time of the bloody month for you or something?” Thorfinn scoffed, shoving the man on the bed beside him.

“ _Mudak_ ,” Antonin grumbled, punching Thorfinn’s arm in return. 

Hermione left them to their scuffling, letting herself out of the bedroom and sauntering away down the hall and to the fireplace. She hadn’t lied. She did need to be getting home. Even if her husband might not be there to greet her. Flooing home, she let herself into their quiet cottage and sighed at the lack of sound. He was asleep then, as Rowle had predicted. That, or he wasn’t even home. Hermione didn’t imagine she was the only one in their marriage carrying on extra-marital affairs. How else could he not have noticed that she came home from ‘working late’ at least four nights a week, and typically reeking of firewhiskey and sweat from a good go in the sack with Thorfinn and Antonin? 

Say what you liked about ex-Death Eaters, they shagged like the devil. 

Hermione sighed, kicking off her shoes and heading for the bathroom, supposing that the least she could do was bathe off the evidence coating her skin and pooled between her legs of how she’d ended her work day. She was almost in the bathroom when the low moan caught her ears and Hermione’s stomach flipped nervously. Surely he wouldn’t? Not in their bed. Doing it behind closed doors and away from the home was one thing, but not in her bed. She didn’t get to bring her lovers to their bed, so he couldn’t either, thank you very much. God, she hoped it wasn't someone vapid, like Parvati or Pansy.

Stealing down the hall on tiptoe, her shirt unbuttoned and her skirt halfway unzipped, Hermione peeked into the bedroom. She supposed she should’ve been hurt by what she found. Shocked, even. But she wasn’t. Not really.

“Bloody hell, Oliver,” Ron Weasley groaned from his place on his knees before the Puddlemere United Quidditch Keeper.

Evidently they weren’t expecting her home for some time yet. 

Hermione wondered what she ought to do. She’d suspected since even before they got married that Ron might actually be gay, but she’d never brought it up and had just assumed that if he ever acted on those fantasies, he’d do it outside their home. Was she supposed to confront him about it? Had he done this here intending to get caught? Was this some sign that he was ready to put pain to their marriage once and for all so that she didn’t have to abandon the bed of her lovers and leave Antonin whining and Thorfinn silently pining though he’d never speak on it? Was she supposed to leave, and make no mention of this moment?

Hermione didn’t know. 

Could she continue playing this game? Half the fun of being with Thorfinn and Antonin was the guilt it stirred in her and the assuage it offered for her frustration with her husband. Ron Weasley was many things, but an attentive lover to his wife was not one of them. Frowning, Hermione supposed that maybe the game was over, then. This was it. She’d caught him. She couldn’t help but be a bit put out with him, actually. There was a secretive thrill in ‘sneaking’ about with her lovers to avoid being caught and yet here Ron was, flouting the rules of the game.

She waited quietly for the two men on the bed to find completion, noting with a wrinkle of her nose that the sheets would need to be changed when Ron found his climax all over the duvet. When they separated, panting and blissful, awaiting recovery, she very softly cleared her throat from the doorway where she’d propped her shoulder.

Oliver jumped and Ron’s eyes went wide as he turned slowly to look at her, his ears turning red and an angry flush crawling up his neck.

“Hermione?” he breathed, evidently horrified and terrrified in equal measure. 

Hermione waited, wondering if he might stammer out apologies. She noted with some amusement the way Oliver ducked down to pick up his abandoned shirt, using the balled fabric to hide his todger from her view. At least it was a nice view, thanks to the long hours he spent training and honing his body for his professional Quidditch career.

“I... um... this is... bloody hell!” Ron stammered when she simply leaned in the doorway and waited. 

She should put him out of his misery, but in truth she was a bit angry with him for letting himself be caught, thus ending their little charade of a happy marriage once and for all. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Oliver noted finally when Ron couldn’t seem to manage a single thing to say in his own defence. 

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“Only annoyed that the charade is at an end,” she admitted. 

“You knew?” Ron asked. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “It seemed a little obvious when the only times I could coax you into shagging me, you wanted to do it up the bum, love.”

Ron’s blush worsened. 

“Are you angry?” Ron asked quietly.

“That you’ve been caught,” Hermione sighed. 

“You knew I was sleeping around on you?” Ron asked, his eyes wide and sad now. “And you never said anything?”

“What was there to say, Ron?” Hermione asked. “You knew I was sleeping around on you, too...”

Ron’s left eye twitched and his mouth opened in surprise.

“Or... maybe you didn’t?” Hermione frowned.

“I thought you were actually working late,” Ron said, looking even sadder that he evidently knew he so little as to tell the difference between her staying back at the office and her getting a little side-nookie. “I thought you could tell I didn’t want to shag and it made you uncomfortable, so you just stayed at work longer until I’d be asleep by the time you came home so we wouldn’t have to talk about it. I felt so guilty that I.... I just... let you think that. I never imagined you'd be... ”

Hermione bit her lip, shaking her head. 

“You have someone else?” Ron asked, and Hermione noted that Oliver looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but didn’t know how to excuse himself. 

“Two someone’s,” Hermione offered gently. “I suppose, after tonight, I can stop upsetting them by jumping out of bed when we’re done and rushing home, lest you catch me in the lie of working late.”

“Two...” Ron repeated, his eyes wide. “Who? It’s not Harry and Malfoy, is it?”

“It’s not Harry and Malfoy,” Hermione said quietly. 

“Right,” Ron said, evidently realising she wasn’t going to tell him who she was shagging. 

“Right,” Hermione repeated. “Um... I guess I’ll... pick up a petition for divorcement tomorrow, then?”

“You’re not upset?” Ron asked again, clearly worried.

“It was only a matter of time, love,” Hermione said sadly shrugging her shoulders. “And my wizards have been a little more vocal of their dissatsifaction with being deserted every evening for me to return here to your snoring. I don't imagine they'd have continued making it so easy for much longer...”

Ron blushed agian. 

“You knew about me and Oliver?” he asked, nodding toward Oliver where he awkwardly shuffled his feet before sitting down on the end of the bed. 

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “Just that you must have someone, and that your someone was likely a 'he'.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Ron confessed quietly.

“Nothing,” Hermione said. “I... um... I’ll take some of my things. Return to my wizards for the night and let the two of you... um... get dressed, I suppose? Or go another round? I'll get out of your hair.”

She pushed away from the doorway and slipped into the room, crossing to the closet and locating her trunk. A whispered word packed up all of her things from the closet and the bedroom. She would return tomorrow with divorce papers to begin sorting out their combined belongings.

When she exited, Ron had his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of the bed they’d shared as husband and wife for years. Oliver awkwardly sat beside him, one hand on his shoulder to offer silent comfort. He met Hermione’s gaze and lifted one eyebrow at her when he saw her with her trunk. Hermione supposed they must’ve expected fireworks were she ever to find out. Perhaps they’d bet on her pitching a fit and hexing them both with boils all over and shouting herself hoarse.

The truth was, though, as she shrugged her shoulders helplessly at Oliver and eyed Ron sadly once more, that it was actually a relief. It was a relief to know he wasn’t just unattracted to her _as_ a woman, but _because_ she was a woman. It seemed a little less hurtful to know she hadn’t the right equipment up her skirt, as opposed to simply not having enough filling out her shirt or something equally ego-wounding where her looks and her figure were concerned.

“I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow night, Ron,” Hermione said gently as she crossed the bedroom. “With divorce papers.”

“Hermione... don’t.... I... I’m sorry,” Ron offered, looking up to stare at her, his face wet with tears.

“Don’t apologise, Ron,” Hermione said softly from the doorway. “No one should apologise for who they love. We can’t help it that it’s not each other.”

With that said, she left, Flooing back to the apartment Thorfinn and Antonin had shared since being released on probation. When she stepped through, she found her two wizards in the kitchen, both shirtless, both snacking. And both with their wands trained on her until they recognized her.

“ _Myshka_?” Antonin asked, his eyes fixed upon her trunk.

“Princess? Everything alright?” Thorfinn asked, frowning as he looked her over. “Bloody hell, he caught you, didn’t he?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Um... No. I caught him,” she said gently. 

"Bloody hell," Thorfinn said, and he frowned, evidently expecting her to be upset despite the year-long, torrid affair she'd been carrying on with the two of them. 

“Was it true that when I go, you lie awake and miss me?” she asked, stepping a little further into the living room.

“Yes,” both wizards said together.

Hermione smiled smally, meeting their eyes steadily.

“Would it be alright if you didn’t have to, anymore?” she whispered.

“ _Da_ ,” Antonin nodded, looking choked with emotion.

“Hell yes,” Thorfinn grinned. “You need a hand with your trunk, Princess? Blimey, did he try ravishing you before letting you go? What happened to your shirt? Come on, give me that. Toshka, get over here and help her out of her skirt, could you?”

Hermione laughed, letting Finn take her trunk, which he swung up onto the coffee table while Antonin converged on her. He didn’t help her out of her skirt, but he did wrap her into a tight embrace and bury his face against her neck, breathing heavily, evidently overcome. Thorfinn grinned when she met his eyes over Antonin’s shoulder before he walked around behind her and curled his arms around both of them. 

For the first time since she’d fallen into bed with them, Hermione sighed in relief, finding that their presence was all the more delightful when she wasn’t wrought with guilt. 


End file.
